I stole this from my Facebook page. After I read it I sent the poster a comment asking her what my role was in her life.
Life is about people. What role would you choose? I want to be the rare one. That one person in your life that helps you see that you are loved, special and wonderful just as you are because YOU are you. Even if we only know each other for the briefest moment in time. We all have value. We are all worthy of the love we are given.
Enjoy the people in your life. Time is fickle and there are no guarantees given. Better to make a memory than a regret. So thanks Katie for posting that pic. You made me smile and you made me think.
Author: kidtrish
I am a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an Enigma. Good Luck ;)
The Crack You Hear
Somewhere between yesterday and today I got OLDER. I am not a big fan of my birthday. Petty I know but it has always been one of MY things. Something I refuse to believe in. I refuse to believe that it can be wonderful and amazing. In my mind I have allowed this birthday notion to GROW into a WILD HAIRY BEAST who’s only goal is to make me rue the day of my creation.
This year Birthday caught me off guard and surprised me. This year Birthday WAS wonderful and amazing and we had the best time ever = ) I put no pressure on myself this vacation. I try too hard sometimes to have a good time. When you force yourself to smile, that smile has little to no value to yourself or the person you just tried to make happy with an empty gesture. I allowed myself to be free from my own expectations. Guess what? By taking that attitude to heart I let the sun shine in.
I spent quality time with my hubby and our friends. My Dad remembered that I was born around the fourth of July. The first time in years he has even come close to wishing me a happy birthday. I cried, Yes. They were tears of happiness and amazement. I had an adventure with my bestie and my husband at the same time. Never thought I get that one off the bucket list ; )
Getting older I am learning to be kinder to myself. Me. myself and I have been going steady for a long time. It is high time we learned to be accepting of each other. Be happy with the who we have become. Sounds strange doesn’t it? Most people fight with themselves about some aspect of their wants or needs. It is hard to strike a balance. Know balance, know happiness. What a great idea.
My Soul Music
I have never tried to write my blog while listening to music before. I thought I would give it a try. I am listening to In Blue by The Corrs. I love this CD. It helps to put me in a better mood when the thick fog of funk rolls in. I have the sound turned down a bit so I can process my thoughts. It is true that you never forget a good lesson learned. I used to sing, listen to music in high school to help me prep for tests. Feels like home, who knew? I switched to my go to gal…Streisand. Her music gives me something no other music has ever given me, the ability to believe in myself.
Lately, ok maybe that is a bad reference for time. I have not been getting along with myself for a few years now. This rift in my being has caused me turmoil and self-loathing. One would think that I would have learned to set myself free from that bullshit already. I think I have finally realized it is part of the mystery I call me. I lost faith in myself. I got lost on my journey. I am in the deep woods surrounded by mosquitoes and other wild life with no FECKING idea how to get back to the main road… except, I know the way. I have been unwilling to “fix” my course. Listen, I was in the middle of a first class pity party. I had balloons and snacks and more snacks and more snacks, well I think you get the idea. Eventually it was time to crawl down from my perch in the tress and rejoin the world around me.
I choose my life. Every crappy, wonderful, screwed up minute. I want to be healthy. One of my mother’s last wishes for me was to be well. She knew she was fading and her time was drawing to a close. She gave me one of her best Junie hugs. “I love you, Trish. I know you will take care of Daddy but I worry you won’t look after you. Don’t become me. I can’t walk. I struggle for breath. Someone has to help me with every small thing. Do you want to end up like me? unable to live like you want?” I brushed it off at the time. Mom being dramatic with all the trappings. She died three months later. I started WWs March 3, 2007. My mom passed away June 11.2007. In that short time I lost 50 pounds. I continued to lose for her, for me until I left behind 145 pounds. Hold your applause. Yes, I lost all that weight and then I walked away.
Funny thing about grief after awhile your mind softens the sharp edges so you can move on with your life. Unfortunately, I chose to move in the wrong direction. I had my reasons; ill conceived most of them. Shortly after my Mom’s passing I began taking care of my Dad. In the beginning he only needed gentle reminders and help with his shopping. I was on course. I managed to lose 145 pounds. I was 6 pounds short of reaching lifetime goal at WWs when my Dad had a cardio-vascular accident that changed our lives. He nearly died on me. I was thrust into full time caregiver with part time hours. Where was my rock? Suddenly I felt so useless and small. Dad got better physically but his dementia…well, that is an ongoing adventure = (
I coped the only way an addict knows how. I FELL off the wagon. No, that’s a lie. I JUMPED. It has taken eight years to regain most of the weight I lost. I didn’t want to deal with all the sadness, disappointment and loneliness that comes from taking care of an ailing loved one. There is no one to blame. It is what it is. I allowed myself to fall short on purpose, fulfilling my own doom theory. Well guess what? Screw that shit. I have things I want to do. Things I need to fix. Adventures to take. People to love. I accept I will always have to fight my need to “fix” my problems with food. Food is the worst friend, ever. I can’t live without her. She won’t change so I need to learn to give her space so my soul can have peace.
Tears for Mom
As I sit here typing this I am crying. Sometimes in the wee hours of the morning I need her; grumpy old woman that she was. She made me laugh. June 9th is my Mom’s birthday. This woman drove me crazy. I suppose it was her right seeing she birthed me into this world. There were days I hated her. I misunderstood her. I was ashamed of her. Perhaps those days can be written off as growing pains, maybe not. I like to think that she helped me become all the wonderful things that make me Trish. The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly and no I don’t mean the Clint Eastwood movie.
My mother was truly one of a kind, thank gawd. She was a tormented soul. She struggled with mental illness the whole of her life. She still managed to raise three daughters. My father loved her with every fiber of his being. He still does. Over the years I learned to accept the kind of love she knew how to give. It was hard growing up with a damaged parent but it made me strong. It taught me to be kind. It taught me to look at problems from all sides. It taught me how to duck when food and dishes would get thrown = ) I miss her.
Happy Birthday you old bat!
Love Shotzie
Parting Ways
It is difficult to be “in” everyday. We all do it. Walk through a day instead of being in the day. Maybe it happened the last time just a few days ago when you had to sit through a work meeting or maybe it was at a function you didn’t want to go to like a graduation or a wedding. My point is we all do it. I do it as a way to preserve my sanity; play along to get along. I hate that about myself. Every time I walk through a day I lose a tiny piece of myself. I am tired of giving me away for no return on my investment.
I find, for myself, that every time I do this my ANGER grows. I become less happy. My resentment level builds to a point where I feel like a cat whose fur has been rubbed the wrong way, putting me on edge. I feel boxed in with no hope for escape. It needs to stop. I am letting go of my anger, again. I want Anger to leave and take her nasty friends, Fear and Loathing with her. Whenever we hang out together I am the one who suffers. I start to question all of my life choices. I am 50. Let’s be honest my anger about wrong path taking should have been set on the right road along time ago. I didn’t follow my dreams because I was afraid. Afraid to live.
I hold a grudge against myself for letting myself down over and over. Self-loathing doesn’t change anything. The only thing I accomplish by being angry with myself is fulfill my own prophecy about not amounting to much. Hold a person up to high expectations and the common man will do whatever it takes to rise to the occasion, to prove his worth, to be given the chance for better and bigger things. I just want my chance. I know in the depths of my soul that I am capable of being so much more than I allow myself to be.
I need a positive change. I will post at least one positive thing a day. I will make it about something that I do or accomplish for me. I am worth the time. Today I made the choice to be happier with myself just the way I am. All my flaws and all the things I like about myself; the whole package = )
She
She used to be here. Now she is not. She used to love me; now her love lives in my heart. With her I never had to be anything more than who I already was. She never wanted anything from me other than myself. She was my biggest fan and my best friend. The youngest of three. She was known as kid sister to me.
One might think that eleven years later my sister’s death would be easier to live with. I move through life. I am still waiting…for the pain to be less, for the sting to fade but it lingers.
I am that favorite vase. Shattered and cracked. Fused back together with Superglue and good intentions. Like the vase I look ok but if you get close enough things might let go and spill its contents over the floor.
She had a way about her. She was so shy almost timid when she was a little girl. Fragile. I always felt like I had to protect her. She got hurt anyway. I couldn’t save her from that. People played on her vulnerability. She knew how to be defiant. She would fight with her whole being to suppress a tear if it meant she held the upper hand. When she would allow herself to cry it was usually in my embrace. Me, her safe haven.
The saddest thing? She never understood what SHE was worth. I know what she was worth. My time, my life, my joy, my laughter was better with her in it. She is still missed. I still look for her in a crowd, certain she is out there somewhere just out of reach, waiting for me.
Dementia Days or Daze?
You tell me. I hate what this disease has turned me into. What it has turned my Pops into. The façade I put up for people keeps me safe; keeps them at arms length. I struggle everyday with the possibility that someone will find out I am a lie. I don’t have all of the answers. I am more lost than found. My heart torn into so many little pieces I am losing track of the last day I felt whole. I would walk away from my life if I knew it meant distancing myself from anymore sadness,pain and disappointment. But how do you walk away from those you love? What kind of a person would I be if I jumped ship just as soon as another deck hand was needed?
I skipped going to see Dad on Mother’s Day because I knew his nursing home would be overflowing with guilty children trying to cram a years worth of visits into that one special day. I went to see Dad this afternoon. I should have just stayed home. All the fresh laundry I brought to him on Saturday gone from his closet. I know things like this happen but everything? Really?
I can’t ask Dad what happened to his stuff. He doesn’t know. He exists in that world of zero accountability. I am just supposed to accept it, laugh it off and move on to the next topic. More often than not I feel frustrated after our visits. Like a carnival ride I can’t get off of.
We are a jigsaw puzzle with key pieces missing. We hold onto the box, our work in progress hoping that one day what is missing will be found. The problem? Dementia reshapes the pieces. The puzzle constantly changing. Only the edges are complete.
If I stopped going to see him would he even know? Could I live with myself? sleep at night? probably not. I go for him as much as I go for myself. He is all I have left of the family I once knew. In his smile I see the beauty of our family. It is there in his eyes I see the love he has for me. The trust he has given me. He believes in me. I used to look at him in that same way when I was a child.
For him I am brave. For him I try not to be lost. For him I would give all that I am.
My Get Up and Go…
…has got up and went. I lived through the “winter that wouldn’t end” most of us in New England feel that way, I think. We are supposed to have four seasons on this coast. Spring is now relegated to a three week period of mostly cloudy, rainy, snotty days. And then just like biting into a ripe lemon SURPRISE! BOOM! summer explosion. I went from wearing a parka to shorts in a span of one week. And people say God doesn’t have a sense of humor. My allergies are kickin’ my ass three ways to Sunday. If it isn’t itching, it’s weeping or burning, my eyes silly, my eyes. I have a tickle that a cough can’t cure, and I must have blown my way through two BIG boxes of tissues. ENOUGH ALREADY! Kill me or move on. I am tired of feeling like a half step off. I take a little pill {allergy type not recreational type =) }to give me a little break. It gives me that feeling like my head is at the end of a string threatening to float away.
A feeling I hate…like I am not tied to anything I can hold onto. Those little pills give me some relief from my allergy symptoms but why is it that sometimes the cure is as bad as the disease?
The real question is; how do I get my groove back? Naps make me feel like I am an old Old OLD lady. Reading or relaxing for any amount of time right after work, especially if I am sitting on the sofa makes me nap, which makes me feel like an old lady,which I hate. Vicious circle, Yes? So I am stuck in this holding pattern waiting for? something, anything like maybe a nap?
Light It UP
She moves along the hall trying to feel her way to safety. A vague light shimmers in the near distance. It is hard to stay focused but she knows if she can get closer to where the light shines she will almost be out. Her breaths are rapid from fear. She can feel her heart beat against her chest. She hasn’t felt this type of fear, well since the last time it almost killed her. Panic and you die. Keep your head in the game. THINK. She keeps repeating the mantra she taught herself so long ago. She forces herself to slow her forward progress and draw deep slow breaths into her lungs. You are ok. YOU are OK. You ARE oK. She is closer now. Is it the light of hope? That one feeling deep in your soul that tells you will survive.
I know I will be ok. I am always ok, it’s part of what makes me the hot mess I am = ) I don’t know why I feel the need to speak up perhaps it is because no one ever spoke up for me. I have a deep need to be heard. I know I talk to much. Sometimes I go to far and hurtful things escape my lips. Never corner a cat. I strike out and say hurtful things when I feel threatened. Problem is once the words let fly you can’t get them back or make them less painful to the recipient.
I wanted to be so much more than I allow myself to be. Give me wings and I’ll learn to fly; turns out I am afraid of heights 🙂 who knew? What happens to someone like me who found her bravery by defending the innocence of someone she loved? I am only fearless when I need to protect someone I love. My bravery? a false front I put on like a mask no on can see around. As people we only allow ourselves the love we think we deserve. I wish I grew up knowing what I was worth. I settle for less but I deserve more.
The Power of a Hug
I have never put much faith into a hug. Confining in nature almost claustrophobic for me. I do not have a great personal history with hugging. In fact, I would say it is one of my greatest weaknesses. My kid sister was the only person who’s hug I would accept. She had a way about it. She’d hang onto me like our lives depended on it. Almost as if she knew there was a storm coming. Her hugs meant the world to me because she put so much of herself behind that embrace.
Something has changed in me lately, perhaps it is because my Dad is in a nursing home. I have had a change of heart about hugging. A true hug should be given free of will and with a depth of meaning to it from you for the one you hug. There a few residents where my Pops now hangs out that feel the need to hug me. I hug them willingly. Like small children these souls hug from their hearts. Overflowing with love for someone they once knew. Some days these people think I am their loved one. They ask me about children I don’t have; husbands and grandchildren that are not mine. I go along with their alternate reality the best way I know how by not rocking the boat. People with dementia or Alzheimer’s are still who they used to be somewhere in their minds. Everybody needs love and affection.
My Pops is the same even if his memories falter or the endings to his stories change. I try to hug him more than I have in the past. I think we both need it more. I miss him. I never realized before how much power comes from such a little thing. A hug makes the weary less tired. To the sad it lends hope. To the loved it spreads an untethered joy. To the lonely a sense of inclusion, that someone cares. To the lost a ray of light showing a safe way. Hug someone today.
notsolargemarge 